


Monologue in Transit

by Willa Shakespeare (AnonEhouse)



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Gen, HEX - Freeform, Hopeful Ending, Post Gauda Prime
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-07
Updated: 2014-03-07
Packaged: 2018-01-14 23:11:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1282207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonEhouse/pseuds/Willa%20Shakespeare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Deva thinks Avon had tricked him into betraying the one secret he'd kept from the Fed. interrogators who tortured them both.</p><p>Maybe it's not that simple.</p><p>And maybe there is yet some hope.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Monologue in Transit

**Author's Note:**

> This is a HEX (upbeat sequel to a downbeat fic by another author which isn't available anywhere, so far as I know.) It was written with the prior permission of the other writer, but as I'm not in contact with them any longer I won't mention the title or the author's name. Both stories were originally posted to a member's only mailing list in 2002.
> 
> Once I started digging out old B7 fic I came across this & decided it was of sufficient interest to be worth posting despite being a short sequel.

(If you are reading this on any PAY site this is a STOLEN WORK, the author has NOT Given Permission for it to be here. If you're paying to read it, you're being cheated too because you can read it on Archiveofourown for FREE.)

Deva woke up, to his surprise and deep regret. He had enough self-control to pretend continued unconsciousness. He wouldn't be able to hold out much longer. He'd only just kept from telling them anything more about Blake's last, best hope by biting his tongue nearly in half.

That had stopped the interrogation and got him taken to surgery, but the last thing he'd heard was the interrogator telling him that he could still write his answers.

And Deva knew he would. He would try to hold out longer, to give them time to scatter, to at least make it difficult for the Federation to destroy the last of Blake's dream. He could see them now, the thirty who were not only brave and dedicated, but who had that extra spark that Blake had counted on to set the Federation ablaze.

And the very worst of it was that Avon had done it. Blake hadn't talked much about him, but everything Deva did was silently compared to Avon, and found lacking. Avon was a genius; Avon was able to make Blake rethink his plans; Avon was able to pull technological marvels out of his high Alpha hat, Deva gathered by inference. Blake had loved the man as a brother, more, as a soul-mate.

At least Blake had died at the point where he could still think Avon's actions were just a terrible mistake. It was left to unimportant, not-so-clever, Deva to discover that Avon would betray even Blake's memory.

The heart-sickness of that thought overwhelmed him, and he groaned.

"Deva?"

Deva's eyes flew open. He hadn't thought they would pull the same trick on him twice, but there _he_ was, Avon the betrayer, staring down at Deva in what looked like concern. Possibly it was, the Federation couldn't be happy with how little they'd got for whatever bargain they made with Avon. Deva turned his head to one side and shut his eyes again, concentrating on his body's pain to distract him from the sick feeling in his stomach. He didn't hurt enough, though. His mouth was numb, and his tongue felt like a lump of dead meat, but it seemed to be intact. Even the cracked ribs and the other assorted insults to his body felt more like aches than agonies. The surgeon must have done a thorough job of repairing the damage. Maybe they wanted him to survive interrogation for a show trial afterward. He would be a small bone to the masses, but better than none. Blake was dead, and Avon had no doubt bargained for his freedom, probably he'd agreed to help undermine what was left of the rebellion. Easy enough if everyone else who knew the truth of Blake's death was either Federation, or dead.

"Deva, I know you're awake."

A hand touched him on the shoulder, lightly, almost tentatively. Deva flinched, then turned back to glare at Avon.

"I see it's just as well you can't talk." Avon grimaced. "I just want you to know that you are...safe. We have escaped. We're in a ship, in neutral space."

Deva's disbelief must have been more than apparent. Avon sighed. "No, it's not another trick to make you talk. Even then, _you_ were the one who initiated the conversation, the one who said the cell wasn't monitored, the one who insisted on telling secrets to someone you considered a traitor."

Avon was right in that much. Blake's belief in Avon must have rubbed off, for Deva to behave so stupidly.

Avon touched Deva's shoulder again and this time Deva didn't attempt to shake the hand off. Maybe if he simply ignored Avon, they would take him back to the torture. He would prefer that the information was forced out of him, at least then he would know it was only his body that had failed.

"They let me have access to the computers, when I told them it was the only way to find Orac." Avon smiled, a brief, non-smile. "Orac had a flier, and orders to hide until I called it back. They agreed." His smile faded. "I had Orac crash the flier into the Federation base on Gauda Prime. I had assumed we would all die, but the explosion was insufficient..." Avon looked away, then looked back again. "I won't go into the details, but in the confusion, I managed to use the computer system to release all the prisoners. I don't know who they were. Possibly some were even..." He shrugged. "It doesn't matter. This ship was there, ready to return to Earth carrying the evidence of their 'glorious' victory. I couldn't leave you behind. You knew enough to have both the Federation and the rebels after me."

Deva narrowed his eyes. _Why not kill me then?_ he thought. He lifted one bandaged arm and made a cut-throat gesture against his own neck.

"Ah. Yes, well, that would have been simpler but I am not a simple man."

Avon looked at the medical equipment monitoring Deva. "You seem to be recovering adequately." He pulled up a chair and sat down. "The ship is on auto-pilot. I can afford a few moments' rest," he said, as if to himself. "And it will be easier for me to explain what I must now, before you are able to interrupt. Blake..." Avon paused to clear his throat, "Blake apparently valued you highly, highly enough that he had entrusted his secrets to you. That makes you an important resource, not one to be idly squandered.

"I spent years fighting the Federation, and I resent the thought that all that time and effort might have been a total waste." He turned away, then back again. "And my brother deserves his chance." Avon held up his hand. "No, I will never ask you where he was sent, him or any of the rest of Blake's cadre. Once you are recovered, I will leave you at a planet of your choice." Avon suddenly yawned. He shook his head and went on. "I'm sure you would prefer that I be the one to stay, so that I could not betray your location, but I need the ship." He yawned again. "Blake needs the ship." Avon's head lolled to one side, and his eyes shut.

Deva waited, but it seemed Avon was in no hurry to spring the trap, probably because he had done it too soon the last time. Deva had been only seconds away from telling Avon what planet his brother had been assigned. This story wasn't half as convincing as the other, where he was to feel pity for poor mistaken, remorseful but proud, Avon. _Blake needs the ship, indeed._ Deva looked around. He was on a ship in flight, that much was obvious from the faint vibration  & subdued sounds of the drive and other machinery. This was a very well equipped medical unit, judging from what he could see while lying flat on his back.

He calmed himself so that his heart-rate slowed and then he sat up, very slowly, curling around so that the stress levels remained below the threshold that would activate the alarms. He was just able to reach the monitor and switch it off without leaving the bed. He breathed as quietly as he could while he removed all the tubes and lines and wires that had hooked him to the system. He got off the table. Avon did look as if he were genuinely exhausted. Perhaps the interrogators had turned on him in frustration.

Deva prayed that his captors were willing to allow him the illusion of freedom for just long enough for him to find something to kill himself. But Avon first. He owed Blake that much.

Deva was light-headed, probably from drugs. He kept one hand on the wall and shuffled forward, concentrating on keeping his balance. When he encountered a surface, he checked it for anything lethal. He found a drawer full of bottled drugs, but he couldn't focus enough to read the labels. He left the drawer half-open and continued around it. The next cabinet had intravenous tubing and bandaging. He wasn't strong enough to garrot Avon. Deva was getting desperate as his vision was greying; his time was running out. He stumbled against another rectangular object, and worked his way around, trying to find the openings. It wasn't a cabinet. No drawers. Just one handle halfway up the side. He tugged at the handle. It resisted, and he tugged again, turning it as he pulled. The handle abruptly released and the door opened. A blast of cold air hit Deva in the face. Surprised, he breathed it in and triggered a coughing fit that lasted until he was on his knees.

"No!" The shout from behind told Deva he'd lost his last gamble. He tried to get to his feet, to make at least a token resistance.

"No." Avon pushed Deva to one side and closed the door. "It's all right, all right, Blake," he muttered. "You'll be all right."

Kneeling on the floor, Deva put his hands on his knees and straightened. The thing he had encountered was a cryogenic stasis unit. And it wasn't empty. Blake was in it. Stripped bare, exposing the wounds that Avon had inflicted on his sometime friend.

"Why?" Deva choke out, horrified. The adrenaline washed away the drug keeping him mute. He still sounded slurry drunk, but Avon obviously understood him.

Avon turned back to Deva, and for a moment, the fury in his eyes burned. "I didn't." He leaned down. "I'm going to put you back in that bed, and this time you are going to stay there. Blake would not be happy if I was to let you die."

"Blake is dead! Why are you keeping his corpse, as a trophy?" Shouting hurt, but Deva didn't care.

"That was the Federation's purpose, I assume." Avon grabbed Deva under the arms from the back. "He was here when I took the ship." Avon lifted, and began dragging Deva back to the bed.

"Why didn't you give him a decent star-orbit funeral?" Deva asked, weeping as he looked at the frozen gaze of his leader, his friend, Blake, one eye wide with indignation, the other drooping cynically.

"Because he's not dead. Yes, I know, I'm mad, everyone thinks I'm mad," Avon said. "Perhaps I even am, but I'm not stupid. Blake was dying, but not yet dead and some ambitious Federation doctor thought he might get points for delivering Blake in that condition to Earth." Avon stopped at the table. "Help me."

"Why?"

"Because at the moment I am too tired to be careful."

"No, why all this? What's the point? Neither of us is a doctor. Neither of us can save Blake."

"Speak for yourself. I can save Blake, and I damn well _will_ with or without your help. Now, put your hands on the table and help me!"

Deva obeyed and between the two of them, they managed to get Deva back onto the table. Avon rested with his hands on the table for a long moment, panting.

"What's wrong with you?" Deva finally asked, not out of concern, but curiosity.

"Five days," Avon said. "Drugs have their limits. I had to stay awake. I still do, but I don't think I can." He shook himself. "I'm taking Blake to a planet that owes me. They have high technology. They must have doctors."

"Blake will need more than that," Deva said. "Organs for transplants aren't easily acquired. Unless you..." He looked at Avon, horrified. "Unless..."

Avon laughed. "No, I am not preserving you for your tissues. Neither am I going to donate any. On Sardos, they can produce as many organs, or whatever else they wish, in any quantity." Avon abruptly slumped, barely keeping to his feet. "I seem to have... miscalculated...my strength." His eyes drooped shut, then opened to stare directly into Deva's. "Kill me, if you must... but let the ship go... to Sardos. Tell them... tell them, Blake was Avon's friend... and they... will save him..."

Deva stared back until Avon's eyes slid shut again. He gave Avon a shove, and watched as Avon slid off the table and landed on the deck in an awkward, uncomfortable-looking position. _What do I do now, Blake? I'll never trust him, never. It could still be a trick. There could be Federation crew right behind that door. I should kill Avon. Even if he's telling the truth, he's mad, anyone can see that. He'll wind up killing you again, Blake, unless I kill him first._

Deva levered himself up on an elbow. His vision had narrowed to a single, bright tunnel. At the center of that tunnel, he saw Blake's face. He could read his answer there. _That would make us no better than them, Deva. When you can't trust anyone else, trust yourself._

Deva nodded and let himself slip back onto the table. "All right, Blake. But if you're wrong, I hope I live long enough to say 'I told you so'." As he slipped into unconsciousness, Deva thought he heard Blake chuckle.


End file.
